


Albus Dumbledore and the Boy Who Lived

by ABirdInFlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Drama, Family, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Well-Meaning Dumbledore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABirdInFlight/pseuds/ABirdInFlight
Summary: Albus Dumbledore never dreamed he would have such a person on his hands. He had never imagined how quickly even the best laid plans could be derailed by something as simple as love. Snippets of the Harry Potter series from Dumbledore's point of view. Will eventually cover all seven books.





	1. The Philosopher's Stone

**Author's Note:**

> So I've never used AO3 before- this work is also available at fanfiction.net under the same username. But, I'd like to get back into fanfiction writing and I realize AO3 is a bit more popular so....here I am. Writing Harry Potter fic in 2018.
> 
> I do plan to update this as I am re-reading through the series, with one chapter corresponding to each book. As to what scenes I choose to elaborate on, what scenes I add in, and what scenes I leave out...those choices are all deliberate. Dialogue that comes from the book is book accurate, but some of the blocking might be more movie based...it's a bit challenging to un-see it after so many years.
> 
> This is a character study piece, and neither condemns nor glorifies any of the characters. Please leave the Dumbledore discourse at the door. Otherwise, let me know what you thought! Good, bad, or otherwise.

The boy was not quite what Albus Dumbledore had expected.

No, he was not that at all. It did not take a great deal of intelligence to observe- and Albus Dumbledore certainly had a great deal of intelligence- that Harry Potter was  _good_.

It was remarkable, in its own right. The boy had been raised by the sort that had no business raising children at all. That Harry appeared here, now- seemingly unharmed, undamaged- was nothing short of miraculous. Albus had known, when leaving the infant Harry with his relatives, that he had been condemning him to a long, difficult ten years. Yet it had been imperative that the boy remain safe. Not only for his own sake, oh no, there was far more at stake than the boy himself. If it had been a mere matter of personal safety, other arrangements may have been possible. But in the event that something  _had_  happened, someone  _had_  found him…no. It was better that Harry was as far from their world as possible.

Protected by his mother's blood, he had remained alive. But that he remained  _whole_ …yes, Albus was pleased. Very pleased.

Well, perhaps not quite whole. From his place atop a battered old desk in a moonlit classroom, Albus studied Harry Potter with a careful sadness. Ah, yes, of course he had found it. Albus had almost hoped he would. The Mirror of Erised was a curious thing in that sense. A marvel to behold, so simple and yet terribly dangerous in its appeal. It was also a rather valuable first test. Albus watched as Harry stared at it hungrily, his father's marvelous cloak slithering to the ground behind him.

What a beautiful young soul, this boy was. Albus tilted his head to the side. No matter the angle, he could not see the vision that held Harry so transfixed- but it was not hard to discern what it was. Despite himself, Albus smiled a small, sad smile. He could certainly imagine the vision. Harry himself in the center. Just behind him would be his parents, of course, perhaps flanking the boy's shoulders. They would smile at him, gently resting their hands upon his shoulders. Behind even them, perhaps, were others…

Albus shut his eyes briefly. Oh, how he understood the way Harry pressed his nose to the glass, one hand resting against the cool pane. Had it joined with another's on the other side? If only such illusions could be.

Harry sank to the floor, sitting with crisscrossed legs and a dreamy expression upon his face. It was clear then, that it was his intention to stay here the whole night through. That wouldn't do. Harry had come to this room several nights now and gazed upon this mirror. Once he had even brought along his friend. Albus had hoped Harry would discover the truth on his own, and cease coming, but it appeared that was not to be.

Though he was reluctant to do so, Albus knew it was time to end it. Dreams were a wondrous thing, but alas…they were not real. And so he must do as all teachers will- he must teach.

"So- back again, Harry?"

The boy all but jumped out of his skin, whirling around to face his Headmaster.

"I-I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," Albus said with a soft smile. He slipped off the desk, mirroring Harry's posture on the ground. "So, you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised." Harry looked up at him, seemingly amazed to see Albus sitting beside him as a friend.

"I didn't know it was called that, sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?" Albus prodded gently. Harry glanced down at his shoes, appearing uncomfortable.

"It…well…it shows me my family," he said.

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy," Albus interjected. Harry looked up, wide-eyed.

"How did you know-?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible." Albus gestured at the silvery fabric lying discarded on the ground. Harry looked sheepish. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head. Not surprised by this, Albus pressed on.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror. That is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is," Albus explained, leading into the answer without giving it away. "Does that help?"

Harry glanced down again, brow furrowed in thought. Albus watched him puzzle away at it- it was quite the riddle for an eleven-year-old. Yet by all accounts, Harry Potter was a bright and inquisitive child. Too direct an answer would be an insult to his intelligence. And Albus wanted him to realize this for himself.

Harry spoke again, "It shows us what we want…whatever we want…" he trailed off, momentarily looking back to the mirror. Albus smiled.

"Yes, and no," he said quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts." Harry looked back to his professor, once again transfixed with what he was saying. He hung onto Albus' every word, seeming to trust him blindly- it was at once as shocking as it was touching.

For a boy of his background to trust, so completely…and for Albus to know that soon the day must come, one terrible day when he must betray him…

"You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you," Albus pressed on. "Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them."

Harry did not yet react, still listening raptly. Albus continued.

"However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth," Albus said, lowering his head a bit closer to Harry's. "Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen," he said in a low voice, "or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."

Harry stared up at him, vivid green eyes locked on Albus' blue. His mouth hung open slightly, though he did not react with any real shock or awe at what he had heard. Albus thought, then, that the lesson had been understood. To be unsurprised was to understand how it could be so. Albus pulled back.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry," he said. "And I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever  _do_  run into it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live. Remember that."

Harry held Albus' gaze for a moment, then slowly nodded. Satisfied, Albus stood, his old knees creaking slightly with the strain.

"Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on, and get off to bed?" Harry stood as well, bringing the cloak with him. He looked up at Albus, suddenly quizzical.

"Sir- Professor Dumbledore?" he asked, a hint of caution in his tone. Albus watched him patiently. "Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Albus answered with a cheekier smile. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

In the mere second that passed before he answered, Albus was caught off guard. He felt his gaze move towards the mirror standing erect behind Harry. He could see it now, the vision that had so entranced Harry- for there they were. His mother, his father, his brother…his sister. Whole, alive, and well, standing happily beside him.

_The same as you, dear boy_.

It was only a second. Without seeming to missing a beat, Albus' gaze flicked back to Harry, and he answered, "I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared at him, incredulous.

"One can never have enough socks," he said. He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

Harry blinked, for it was clear this was not the answer he'd expected. And a lie it was, though out of necessity. Albus could not fathom sharing the truth with a boy so young- particularly not this boy.  _Ah, what would you think of me if you knew? Those eyes would not trust me so._

"Run along now, Harry," Albus said, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder to nudge him forward. "I daresay one cannot hope to win their match against Hufflepuff without proper sleep." He winked, and at this Harry nodded, scurrying from the room. He stopped at the door, however, and looked back.

Albus merely smiled, and gave a short nod. Harry turned, wrapping the cloak around his shoulders, and disappeared.

* * *

Albus could admit, he had been concerned for the boy after the Mirror was moved. Secure in its new home, Albus had little fear that Harry would discover it again. In fact, it was the very last thing that Albus wanted. He was infinitely glad, then, to see Harry's focus shifting back to his studies and his sport- that Quidditch match against Hufflepuff was coming up.

Yet there were worries, always worries- it troubled Albus greatly, what had occurred at the last match during which he had not been present. A broomstick did not simply go wild of its own accord. Severus, of course, had reported to him the day's events- that someone had tried to curse Harry's broomstick so that the boy would fall to his death. Well, no such things would occur at this match. Severus had volunteered to referee, and Albus knew well his own power. Whoever had done such a thing would not dare a repeat performance in his presence.

Ah, but who was the culprit? That was the question that truly weighed on Albus Dumbledore's mind as he climbed to the top of the Quidditch stands, settling into a rather uncomfortable seat next to one rather enthusiastic Minerva McGonagall.

"Gryffindor will take the lead if we win today," she said to him as soon as he'd sat. Albus granted her a smile- no need to trouble her with his woes.

"A Headmaster is not meant to play favorites," he said with a wink. Minerva only grinned.

"You hardly fool me, Albus, but I won't spoil your secret," she said. At that moment, the whistle was blown- and the game began.

It was a whir of excitement- a Quaffle thrown here, a Bludger hit there- Hufflepuff was awarded a penalty when said Bludger whizzed past Severus' ear. Minerva frowned rather loudly.

"Oh, those Weasley boys. They ought to know better than attacking a referee!" she pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head when Hufflepuff scored. Albus watched her disdain with some amusement.

"Careful. People will start to accuse you of favoritism as well," he said. Minerva scoffed.

"If a head of house can't root for their own team, then I don't know what," she said, prodding him in the arm. Albus laughed. Thus far, the game appeared to be going quite well- though Severus had just awarded Hufflepuff another penalty. For what, Albus could not discern. He exhaled through his nose- some grudges never did change.

Not five minutes later, Minerva jumped out of her seat, grabbing Albus' arm and pointing up. He followed her gaze and stood rather quickly. Harry had just nose-dived towards the ground, presumably having seen the Snitch. Watching with bated breath, the two old friends could not help but cheer as the boy pulled out of the dive, hand extended triumphantly- the game was over. Gryffindor had won.

And what a triumph it was. The stadium erupted with a deafening roar. The students spilled onto the field, swarming Harry like a hoard of bees- Minerva included in their number. Albus descended the stairs a little more slowly, allowing the students to savor the moment. But he did still make his way through the euphoric crowd, approaching Harry's side.

"Well done," Albus said quietly, clapping his hand upon Harry's shoulder. The boy looked up, clearly startled, but grinning from ear to ear. Albus felt something in his chest lurch. Merlin's beard…he bent low so only Harry could hear him.

"Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror," he whispered with a knowing look. "Been keeping busy…excellent..."

At that moment Harry was swept away from him, pulled into the throng once again. Albus let his hand fall away from the boy's shoulder. This was right. This was good. And yet, not for the first time, Albus was terribly concerned at what the growing sense of  _pride_  he felt might mean.

_He's only eleven._

That night Albus found himself awake long past moonrise, pacing back and forth in his study. Hands clasped behind his back, nothing but the light of a slowly dying fire illuminating the room. The only sound was the crackling of the flames, and the occasional plaintive cry from the brilliantly plumed phoenix sitting upon a golden stand in the corner. Albus glanced at it, but chose not to address him. Fawkes, while far more intelligent that most would give credit for, did not have the answers Albus sought.

Harry Potter was quickly becoming a problem. Albus turned away from the phoenix, his gaze now trained upon a stone basin which sat in the corner of the room. A reminder, perhaps, was what he needed now…Albus drew the Pensieve out, setting it upon his desk. He prodded it with his wand, and its contents seemed to spring to life. An eerie blue glow emanated from the swirling memories within.

"No, no," he muttered, sifting through them with the tip of his wand. "Ah…there." With one last prod, he stepped back. A figure rose from the basin, silvery and gossamer. Her beady eyes were hidden behind large spectacles, and her long dark curls were hidden beneath her many shawls. When she spoke, it was with a harsh, raspy voice.

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, for he will have powers the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"_

As quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared into the mist. Albus heaved a great sigh- hearing it again gave him no joy. It was the penultimate line that gave him such trouble.  _Neither can live while the other survives_ …it was quite an obvious thing, yet so complex. Albus' brow furrowed. No matter how he puzzled at it, he simply could not  _grasp_  it.

The night Harry Potter lived, something had happened. Something terrible, something which had doomed the poor boy to the life Albus knew he must soon be condemned.  _The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…_ but what did it  _mean?_

The mystery of how Harry had lived while Lord Voldemort was left broken, a mere shell of his former self, had eluded all wizardkind the last ten years. None would blame Albus for being unable to solve it. Yet still it was obvious what must occur for Voldemort to be defeated at last.

This was what plagued him most. The boy had a death sentence written upon his brow as clear as his scar. He had from the day these words had been uttered, from the moment they had been overheard. That meant Albus' way forward was equally as clear- he must prepare Harry for this. He must tell him the terrible truth, must groom him for the battle and the sacrifice that must be made.

_For the greater good_.

Such horrible words.

Yet it was not the task at hand that made it all so difficult. A difficult task it may be, particularly when so many variables were yet unknown- but it was possible. That hope was still alive, that the world might be spared a second time.

No, what made it so taxing was the boy himself. It was his bright smile, his charming demeanor. It was the look of joy in his eyes as he held up the Golden Snitch. It was the way he laughed with his friends, and the way he trusted so completely, so implicitly, that this world was the salvation from the life he'd known before.

This innocent, happy child…how could Albus bear to destroy him?

* * *

He would be put to the test much sooner than he had realized.

_"Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?"_

_Two frightened young children nodded up at him- one clearly injured, the other white-faced and drawn. He had rushed off to the third floor._

The boy lay upon the hospital bed, peaceful in still. There was a cut upon his face, running from his temple down to the bridge of his nose. His hands lay unmoving, bandaged from where they had been injured.

_He sped past the barriers guarding the Stone, bypassing the charms and spells as if they were not there at all. Just a little further, a little further…at the door of the last chamber, he could hear the struggle on the other side._

_The door burst open, and the sight was more terrible than Albus had imagined. The disfigured shape of his own Professor Quirrell writhed upon the ground- two faces upon his head, one screaming "KILL HIM, KILL HIM!", the other covered in blisters and shrieking in pain. Quirrell's hands wrapped around Harry Potter's neck, struggling to pull him off. Harry's hands were pressed against Quirrell's face, the source of the blisters._

_Albus lunged forward without thought- "Harry, Harry!" He wrenched the boy free, and brandished his wand. Quirrell was blasted backwards. His head hitting the wall with a sickening thud. But the damage had already been done- the man would die, not from a head wound, but from the burns peppering his face._

_Behind him, Harry fainted._

For an entire year, the disembodied form of Lord Voldemort had resided in these very walls. And he, he the protector, the guardian, the  _Headmaster_ \- had been ignorant of it. Though how could anyone have known? To look at Quirinius Quirrell was to underestimate him. Albus could concede it- he'd fallen into the same trap. When old Nicholas Flamel had warned him of the rumblings from Albania, that what remained of Voldemort's supporters were interested in the Philosopher's Stone- it had only seemed wise to protect it at Hogwarts.

Under the nose of Albus Dumbledore, no one would dare to try to steal it.

A foolish oversight, one easily made by those with power. Albus had never dared to dream that Voldemort was gone for good, but he had also never believed it possible that he might infiltrate the school. Never, not once during the first war, had Hogwarts ever been targeted.

Would this lesson never be learned?

_Albus sank to his knees next to the boy, feeling for signs of life- the breath, a heartbeat, anything. He found it by pressing his fingers against Harry's next and heaved a great sigh of relief. Harry was alive. But only for now- he was a white as a sheet, his breathing shallow and labored._

_Albus pulled Harry into his arms, his bones creaking as he struggled to his feet. There was no time to think of anything else, however, as he rushed back through the many chambers and passageways up to the third-floor corridor._

_The only thought in his head was that Harry must live. He must live._

Three days had passed. Harry had survived this encounter. He was weak, and likely to be sore for some time- but he would indeed live. Over the course of those three days, Albus' fear had transformed to something else.

He was  _proud_ , intensely proud, of what Harry had accomplished. A boy of eleven had faced down the most feared wizard of all time, and come out victorious. Most grown wizards could not say as much. Albus stared down at him now, seemingly so weak and small in his hospital bed, and an enormous affection bubbled up within him.

Harry's eyes flickered open, and the first trial began.

* * *

He failed it.


	2. The Chamber of Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was challenging, and I suspect the next one will be as well. CoS and PoA are easily the two books Dumbledore features in the least. This one in particular, however, was difficult to write as it occurred to me while reading the book that Dumbledore's actions- or lack thereof- are completely inexcusable in a realistic context. It's really really obvious that Jo wrote the teachers to be totally useless in this novel in particular so that she could have Harry save the day. That's useful for her plot to move forward, but challenging for me, trying to write from the perspective of one of the teachers.
> 
> Because I'm not going to turn this into an over-examination of every single obvious plot hole, I had to work with what Jo gave us and try to rationalize from Dumbledore's perspective as well as I could. You gotta remember, these are children's books.
> 
> Once again, everything here is deliberate. I didn't want to just re-write the book from Dumbledore's point of view, so like last time, a few new scenes are added and several that appeared in the book are not featured as heavily. There is one little moment, however, that's taken from movie canon as I feel it's a more powerful parallel than the book. Hope you enjoy!

_"Headmaster, you must see what is happening!"_

_"And you must see my hands are tied! With the Ministry breathing down my neck at every turn, I had to do something…"_

_"And if that something incriminates an innocent?"_

_"Look, Albus, you must admit the boy's record is against him…five counts of raising illegal creatures in the castle, five! It's a wonder no one's been killed before…"_

_"This was not the doing of an Acromantula. Armando, you must see it."_

_"It was a tragedy, of course. I don't believe Mr. Hagrid meant it to kill anyone, but surely you must admit that with the evidence before me I have no choice…"_

_"And what of the truth, Armando?"_

_"Good lord Albus, surely you don't believe all this nonsense…Chamber of Secrets indeed…"_

* * *

"Professor Dumbledore, you  _must_  see what is happening!"

Albus glanced over the edges of his steepled fingers. Minerva McGonagall stood on the other side of his desk, looking as though she might breathe fire. He sighed.

"My hands are tied, Minerva. I never took you as one to believe in legend."

"Not  _legend_ ," she scoffed, "but if there is some creature running loose in this castle, surely we must do  _something_. Preparing the Mandrakes is all well and good, but what if someone else is attacked next?"

Albus pressed one hand to the bridge of his nose. A headache was building behind his eyes- the night had been a long one.

"The castle is being searched. That is all I can do," Albus said, lowering his hand. "Unless you believe we should close the school? I would not blame you if you did."

"I…no, not…not yet," Minerva said, clearly wrong-footed by this point of argument. "But surely there must be something more…protective spells or…"

"How can we defend against what we do not know?" Albus countered. "I hope you don't think me callous. Of course, I'm deeply concerned about these attacks…but, forgive me, I am not so foolish as to think a simple shield charm will protect the students."

Minerva's nostrils flared, but she made no further arguments. Albus knew that she knew he was right.

"I value your input deeply. But until we know more, I'm afraid there's little we can do."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore did not, in fact, know everything. A common misconception by students and adults alike. Certainly, there was a great deal he did know. He did know the Chamber of Secrets existed, and that it was far more than a legend. He did know the true identity of the culprit behind these attacks. And he did know that somehow, some way, Harry Potter was the true reason the Chamber had been opened again.

He did not know how. He did not know the nature of the beast within, or how it was able to travel the castle unseen. Nor was he aware what sort of creature could petrify- there were no reports anywhere else in the world of a monster that could stun in such a way.

There were many guesses, of course, hunches he could make…perhaps it was able to become invisible, perhaps it traversed through the walls, the plumbing, the roofs…there were numerous possibilities.

Reports of the attacks would reach the parents soon. And when it did, the Ministry would not be far behind. It would not matter. The attacks would not stop, not until Tom Riddle had killed his true target. Perhaps not even then.

Was this to be the moment, then? Would Harry Potter face his fate far, far sooner than expected?

* * *

_Is there something you wish to tell me?_

_No sir. Nothing._

* * *

It was early December when Minerva McGonagall came to him once again, thin-lipped and grim.

"There's been another attack," she said in a hollow voice. Albus could only sigh- after the Creevey boy, it had only been a matter of time.

"Who?" he asked, lifting his head sadly.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley, of Hufflepuff. And…" she trailed off, a puzzled expression crossing her face, "Nearly Headless Nick as well. Both petrified, as the others have been."

"A ghost?" Albus frowned. What could possibly harm one already dead? Yet he remained calm, for Minerva's sake- it would not do to appear flustered.

"There's something else," Minerva said. Her brow furrowed. "Harry Potter was found standing next to them."

"Ah."

"Albus…I can't believe he'd have anything to do with this, but…" she glanced at him, as if begging him to tell her it couldn't be true. Harry Potter couldn't be the heir of Slytherin.

"I'll speak to him." Albus stood and crossed the room towards the door to his office. "I do not believe the boy has anything to do with this, but as we know…he has a certain fondness for a good mystery."

Minerva scoffed, but said nothing more. Albus entered his office, not quite sure what to expect.

"Professor," Harry Potter spun around, eyes wide and scared. "Your bird- I couldn't do anything- he just caught fire!"

Albus glanced to the side- not what he had expected at all, then. He smiled.

"About time, too," he said, shaking his head. "He's been looking dreadful for days. I've been telling him to get a move on."

Harry's mouth dropped open. Albus chuckled- the boy's astonishment was as endearing as ever. Albus stepped towards the stand whereupon Fawkes usually sat, gesturing for Harry to follow.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry," he explained, leaning down to peer into the ashes resting on a golden tray beneath the stand. Harry followed suit, a bemused expression on his face. "Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die, and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him…"

Right on cue, Fawkes poked his tiny, wrinkled head free from the ash. Harry's nose wrinkled slightly, but Albus lifted one finger to let Fawkes find him again. The bird cooed softly, nipping the tip of Albus' finger with his beak. Albus smiled, then straightened.

"It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," Albus said, crossing the room again and sitting behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."

Harry had followed behind Albus, sitting in the small wooden chair opposite the desk. Albus fixed him with a stare, waiting for the boy to speak-

_Bang_.

"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" came the booming voice of Rubeus Hagrid, swinging a dead rooster wildly about the room. His eyes blazed from beneath an enormous balaclava. "I was talkin' ter him  _seconds_  before that kid was found, he never had time sir-"

Albus, having momentarily been surprised, opened his mouth to speak. Hagrid interrupted, shaking rooster feathers across the room.

"It can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to"

"Hagrid, I-" Albus lifted a hand.

"Yeh've got the wrong boy sire, I  _know_  Harry never-"

" _Hagrid!_ " Albus raised his voice. "I do  _not_ think that Harry attacked those people."

"…oh." The rooster fell limp at Hagrid's side, the man himself chastened. "Right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster." Albus resisted the urge to shake his head, watching as Hagrid stomped back out of the room.

"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry asked, nervous eyes suddenly looking hopeful. Albus brushed a few stray feathers off his desk.

"No, Harry, I don't," Albus said. He leaned forward slightly. "But I still want to talk to you." He steepled his fingers, observing the boy. Ought he tell him now? Ought he warn him of the danger, of who was really behind the attacks…of who the real target of all this was? Ought he tell the boy why he had been marked for death at only fifteen months of age?

Yet the boy stared at him, wide-eyed, young…still so young. No, this was not the time for it…yet it was far too clear Harry was nosing around in things most young boys his age wouldn't dream of touching. Albus had heard the rumors, he'd heard the whispers. Potter, the heir of Slytherin, Potter, the Parselmouth…after the events of the previous year, there wasn't a chance Harry was simply sitting idly by this time.

"I must ask you Harry," Albus began gently, "whether there is anything you wish to tell me. Anything at all."

A million unreadable thoughts flashed in Harry's bright green eyes. Albus waited.

"No," Harry answered. "There isn't anything, Professor."

Bitterly disappointed, Albus dismissed Harry from his office.

* * *

For a time, there was peace, and the attacks had ceased.

But only for a time.

_The match has been cancelled. All students are to report to their house dormitories at once._

Another double attack, another round of questions.

"What do we do, Albus?"

"You must know the governors will have…concerns."

"Ought we close the school?"

"Students aren't safe here anymore!"

"But what else would become of them? It's mid-way through the year, and with exams coming up…"

"You think exams matter more than their lives?"

"Well, that isn't quite what I-"

" _Enough!_ "

Four sets of eyes stared up at him. For a moment, the Heads of Houses seemed to be little more than students themselves. Wanting answers, needing guidance. Even Severus, hard of heart as he often seemed, was visibly concerned.

"The school will not close. Not yet," Albus said. He sighed. "However, I suspect Lucius Malfoy will be calling for my resignation any day now. Should this happen, I will, of course, be forced to step aside." He looked pointedly at Minerva, who merely nodded back at him.

"Until then, new safety protocol must be established until these attacks have stopped."

The questions erupted again.

"And if the attacks don't stop?"

"Have you any idea what might be behind them?"

"Could it really  _be_  the Heir of Slytherin?"

"A mere legend, I don't think so, this is surely the work of other dark forces…"

And on and on it went.

* * *

The governors did ask him to step aside. So he did.

Not even a month later, they pleaded with him to come back. So he did.

* * *

Harry Potter went into the Chamber of Secrets. And Harry Potter came out again, covered in blood and slime, but victorious.

In many ways it was the last thing Albus would have wanted. But just like the year before, Harry Potter had proven himself no ordinary young wizard. Here he was, a boy of twelve, facing challenges grown witches and wizards would never dream of. Not only did he rise to the occasion, he  _overcame_ it.

As Harry regaled the room with his thrilling tale- one of puzzles and mysteries, of strange voices and secret potions, daring and danger- the wheels in Albus' mind began to turn. Naturally, it all made sense now. Parselmouth, a basilisk, what appeared to be the ghost of Tom Riddle controlling the entire operation, and this mysterious diary. Small pieces were clicking into place.

Yet still, there was that small bubble of  _pride_.

In the end, this was only another test. Compared to what would surely come, an excursion into the Chamber of Secrets would seem like a pleasant outing. Should Albus arm Harry now, tell him the truth while he stood there, grinning and covered in muck? Should he ruin this night of glory? Take the victory form Harry's hands?

The conversation inched closer to the topic. Albus faced his second test.

* * *

He failed this one, too.

* * *

The end of year feast was now behind them. The students were trucking along home, aboard the great scarlet steam engine. The petrified people had been healed. The Chamber of Secrets was now closed. All seemed well.

Yet Albus was still troubled. The little black diary sat upon his desk, broken and stained with ink. The massive hole in the center where the basilisk fang had destroyed it still seemed to hiss ever so slightly, as though the presence which had haunted it still lingered. As though it were  _alive_  still, somewhere hiding.

Albus pressed the tip of his wand to the leather binding. The diary did not react.

No, the piece of Voldemort that lived in this diary was gone. But  _he_  was not gone, that much was evident. Harry had not destroyed Lord Voldemort last year, and he had not destroyed him now. Then what had haunted this diary? What magic was so powerful that it could have possessed Ginny Weasley and compelled her to open the Chamber of Secrets?

Albus shifted the diary aside, returning his attention to one of the many volumes of advanced dark magic that now littered his desk. The answer would not be in these pages, but perhaps there would be a clue, some passage that might make the mystery plain.

Albus suspected, though he could not prove, that this diary was connected to Harry. It was surely no coincidence that this had happened while  _Harry_  was at Hogwarts. Just as it was no coincidence that Quirinius Quirrell had been possessed by Lord Voldemort, that it was no coincidence Harry could speak Parseltongue, and that it was no coincidence that Tom Riddle had not died the night Harry hadn't.

Squinting through his half-moon spectacles, Albus flipped a page of  _Magick Moste Evile_. A useless book, really, given he'd read through it five times already. Magic pertaining to the soul was rare, immortality was not possible. Not unless…Albus glanced up and picked up his wand.

Turning it over between his long fingers, he wondered. There were ways. Evil, vile ways of sustaining life. Albus set his wand down and picked up the diary again. Tom Riddle had not actually been  _alive_ down in the Chamber. Harry had described him as somewhat fuzzy, not fully formed. He had needed Ginny Weasley's life force to exist.

Albus looked at the wand again. Not Hallows, but…

Quickly he picked up  _Magick Moste Evile_  again, flipping to a page he wouldn't have otherwise considered relevant.

_Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction._

Not Hallows. Horcruxes.

With a slightly shaking hand, he held up the diary again.

Tom Riddle had created a Horcrux.

* * *

A week later it occurred to him that Harry Potter must be a Horcrux too.


	3. The Prisoner of Azkaban

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, hi, I have not abandoned this project. I apologize for the six month wait for this latest installment- in April, I was accepted into a PhD program and had to put a pause on just about everything else. The program required me to move halfway across the country, to one of the most notoriously difficult places to live on Earth (really, someone tell New Yorkers they need to just chill the hell out for five minutes...). And of course, starting the PhD program itself has been a bit of a beast. The work started in June and it's been non-stop since.
> 
> But, while I've definitely not gotten any less busy, I do think I've gotten more of a handle on things and improved at managing my time. Thus, I was finally able to finish the third book and get this chapter written. This wasn't nearly as challenging to write as I thought it would be, because while Dumbledore doesn't appear on the page nearly as much in this book as he does in others, there is a lot going on behind the scenes that I was able to play with. 
> 
> As before, where canon does not give me explicit fact (or works against typical adult logic because...children't series), I've substituted in quite a bit of conjecture and headcanon. There are some rather deliberate choices here that are meant to parallel the many unspoken similarities between Dumbledore and Harry. It made this chapter interesting to write. We're seeing a progression in Dumbledore's growing feelings about Harry that are going to really come to a head in the next installment. Hope you all enjoy!

 

  ** _Sirius Black Escapes Azkaban Prison!_**

_Guards from Azkaban prison have informed the Ministry of Magic that one of its most notorious mass-murderers, Sirius Black, escaped the prison in the early hours of Tuesday morning. Ministry officials are not yet aware how Black managed to escape. Black is assumed armed and dangerous._

_Black is most famous for his murder of twelve muggles and one wizard, Peter Pettigrew (Order of Merlin, First Class), with a single curse on the morning of November 1_ _st_ _, 1981. Many will remember this as the day following the fall of You-Know-Who, who lost power after the murders of James and Lily Potter the night before. Their son, Harry, survives, and will be attending his third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Black was a known supporter of You-Know-Who. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, spoke to reporters this morning. "We can only assume Black's target is Mr. Potter, I'm afraid," he stated. "Black lost everything the night You-Know-Who fell. We feel he may have escaped to seek revenge for his fallen master." Fudge later reported that guards from Azkaban will be stationed at Hogwarts this year._

_"For the protection of the children, you know," Fudge stated. Fudge has urged calm, and reassured worried parents that their children will still be safe at the school. "Between Dumbledore and the guards, I can't think of a safer place!"_

_Muggle authorities have been informed that Black is at large and carrying a weapon known as a gun. Any witch or wizard who sights Black is urged not to confront him, but to inform the Ministry immediately._

Albus Dumbledore sighed deeply. He set the paper down and removed his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose. His eyes flicked to the photograph printed beside the article- a mugshot, silently screaming up at him. The once handsome face was marred with rage.

There was a knock at the office door. Albus sighed again and returned his glasses to their place on his nose.

"Come in."

The door opened to reveal an exceptionally shabby looking man. He wasn't much more than 30, yet his appearance was that of a man twice his age. His weathered robes hung from his slim frame. Once sandy-brown hair was streaked with gray, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look as though he hadn't slept in weeks.

"Remus," Albus said in greeting, standing to offer his hand.

"Professor Dumbledore," the man, Remus, said in return. Beneath his tired face, he cracked a small smile. "Good of you to invite me, but I don't think…"

Albus interrupted him by holding up a hand. "I won't hear of it," he said. "Naturally, I'm aware of your conditions. Arrangements were made before, they can…ah…be made again. I assume you've heard of the Wolfsbane potion? Marvelous invention, really." Albus spoke as though he were discussing the latest Quidditch scores. Remus, meanwhile, appeared unsettled.

"Yes," he said pensively, taking the seat opposite Albus's large desk. "But I'm afraid I cannot brew it myself. Never was much for potions, I'm sure you recall…"

"No matter, no matter," Albus said rather casually, smiling at the man across him. "You may have heard, we have a rather brilliant potions instructor. He's agreed to brew it for you, should you accept my offer."

Remus's face, which had grown dark with skepticism, seemed to light up. "Really? He'll do it? I'd have thought…after all these years…"

"He agreed."

The matter was closed.

"There is, however…one other matter we ought to discuss," Albus said delicately, shifting the newspaper towards his guest. Remus took it, a shadow crossing his face. It aged him further. Albus merely observed. He had no doubt about Remus Lupin's loyalties, nor his capacities to teach. But it was easy to lose one's head when it came to matters such as these.

"It's true then," Remus said coldly, handing the paper back to Albus when he'd read his fill. "I'd heard the rumors."

"I'm terribly sorry, Remus," Albus said, folding the paper and placing it off to the side. "I know you were friends…"

"Not anymore."

That matter, too, was closed. Albus gave a small sigh.

"I'm sure you also know that Harry is here." At this, Remus brightened a touch.

"Yes…yes, of course I know," he said softly. "James's son."

"He looks remarkably like him," Albus said, "except the eyes. He has Lily's eyes." Remus smiled, almost wistfully. Albus knew well the pain he must still feel- the loss of any friend was terrible, but the loss of  _such_  a friend…James and Lily Potter had certainly left a hole in the world when they'd left it.

But then there was Harry, young Harry Potter. He was terribly like them- Albus knew it well, for he had watched Harry closely over the course of the past two years. Perhaps closer than anyone else ever had.

"What's he like?" Remus suddenly asked, breaking the amiable silence. Albus smiled again- only natural Remus would want to know about his old friend's son.

"He's very bright," Albus began. "Brave, like his father. But gentle like his mother. He favors her in temperament, if not in looks. Though there is a certain disregard for the rules I'm sure you'll recognize." Remus laughed quietly, shaking his head.

"And just how much did you know, Dumbledore?"

"More than you believed at the time," Albus said, inclining his head. "Though I'm sure there's much I'd prefer to remain ignorant of if we're to be colleagues." Remus laughed again, only to glance towards the window.

"We called ourselves the Marauders. James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter- the four Marauders of Hogwarts!" Remus shook his head again. "We were as close as any friends could be."

Albus's smile faded, as it often did when he remembered just how  _much_  of a tragedy the Potters' deaths had been. There was so much he could not tell Remus about that night. He wished he could, if only to ease the younger man's pain.

"I'm looking forward to meeting him," Remus said, jarring Albus out of his own darkening thoughts. "Harry. That is, if…" he trailed off, a question in his eyes.

"Of course," said Albus. "My offer hasn't changed."

"I'd understand if it had… _he_ ," Remus gestured savagely towards the screaming man in the news article, "was my friend once."

"But not anymore."

"No."

"Then I believe the matter is settled," Albus said kindly. "My only request, is that you not go looking for Black. I understand the desire…but I'm afraid I can't allow one of my teachers to go tracking down an escaped convict."

Remus sat there, looking quite stunned. Yet Albus thought he might have hit on some baser instinct in the younger man. He had always been the more careful of his friends, yet Albus suspected Remus was still likely to kill Black on sight, if given the chance.

"You must allow the guards to do their job, if it comes to that. Do you understand? I won't be able to protect you if, ah…you were to avenge James and Lily yourself."

Finally, after a long moment, Remus nodded.

"I had thought of…but you've been too kind, Dumbledore, I don't deserve it. I won't seek him out."

For now, that was good enough for Albus.

"Then the job is yours. I will see you again on the first of September."

* * *

 Though half the staff thought him mad for it, it was no coincidence that Albus had hired Remus Lupin for this particular year. Werewolf or not.

It ought not surprise him by now- not when the past two years had been shockingly eventful. Still, Albus had the horrible suspicion that this year might be particularly difficult for young Harry Potter. Albus was no fool. He knew Harry would discover the truth about his murderous godfather sooner or later. Better to hear it from a friend than a foe.

Albus hoped Remus Lupin could be such a friend. For he, certainly, could not.

* * *

 As always, the students arrived on September 1st, safe, happy, and only a little shaken that a dementor had entered their train. Angry as Albus was, he understood the desire for such a safety precaution. Even so, when he'd heard the way Harry Potter had passed out from the ordeal, Albus had been deeply troubled.

Having those things on the grounds had not been his choice- the Ministry had rather brutishly forced it upon him, disregarding his authority as Headmaster completely. He could not deny, however, that he had no power with the government. That was the way he had wanted it- he'd denied the position as Minister enough times, after all.

Still, in some situations, it was terribly irksome. The dementors were, no doubt, dangerous. And completely useless, as they all learned on Halloween night.

"Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black!" cackled the poltergeist, flitting away from the frightened group of students huddled outside Gryffindor Tower. Albus pushed his way through the crowd. Of course, it was the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Naturally, Black must have assumed he'd be able to strike once inside.

Albus lifted one hand to the shredded portrait, pressing the torn canvas back into place for a moment. The slash marks were brutal yet frantic. Their jagged edges had torn the painting beyond recognition. The Fat Lady, it's usual occupant, was nowhere to be found.

"Back to the Great Hall, all of you!" Albus said loudly, turning back to the white-faced crowd. "The castle must be searched immediately. Heads of Houses, gather your students as well. I want everyone in one place. Gryffindors, follow me."

Albus strode to the front of the crowd, wand aloft. It was imperative that all remain calm, him most of all, yet his heart raced as they turned each corner. Occasionally Albus glanced backwards, listening and looking for signs that Black might be lurking out of sight. Albus didn't think him fool enough to attack such a large group, but with Harry there behind him, he couldn't afford to take risks.

Albus glanced back again, this time searching for the familiar jet-black head of hair. Harry seemed unafraid, discussing something at length with his friends, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley. No doubt all three were aware by now precisely whom Black had hoped to target. Albus pressed on, face impassive yet movements hurried. The quicker they were in the Great Hall, the safer they would all be.

Albus had no doubt in his own abilities to apprehend Black, should he come across him in a fair fight. But Black was a criminal, and it was a surprise attack Albus feared. Loathe though he was to admit it, he was not as young as he once was. Age did one's reflexes no favors. And if anyone was hurt…or Merlin forbid, killed…Albus didn't like to think of it.

Thankfully they arrived at the hall without incidence. The other houses trailed in after them, confused chattering filling the still-decorated room. With a wave of his wand, Albus lit the candles again. Minerva and Filius secured the doors.

"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," he said. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbances should be reported to me immediately." Percy Weasley puffed out his chest, equal parts serious and self-important. "Send word with one of the ghosts."

Albus turned to leave, only to remember- "oh, and you'll be needing…" he trailed off, finishing his thought with magic instead of words. With a few waves of his wand, the tables had stacked themselves against the wall, and hundreds of purple sleeping bags now crowded the floors. Not ideal, perhaps, but it would be safe. Albus turned towards the doors, nodding at the other teachers to follow him into the hall. Before he left, however, he turned back to the students, projecting as much calm as ever, and said "sleep well."

As soon as the door closed, however, panic set in.

"What must we do, Albus?"

"How could he have slipped past the dementors?"

" _He_  must have helped, don't you see, I warned you…"

"What? How dare you accuse me of…"

" _THAT IS ENOUGH!"_ Minerva roared. She turned to Albus. "Secure the doors, Albus." He nodded.

"I do not know how Black entered this castle, but it is imperative we find him," he said, once the doors were sealed with protective spells. "Severus, you and Mr. Filch will search the dungeons. Filius, the North Tower. Pomona, East. Minerva, the West Tower, and I will search the South. The rest of you, take the classrooms. Anyone who finds him is to apprehend him  _immediately._  I'm afraid the dementors will be wanting their prisoner back."

A grave silence settled over the small crowd- each and every one of them knew what that meant. Most likely remembered, as Albus did, the boy Sirius Black had been.

"I wish it weren't so," he said. "But I'm afraid we've little say in the matter. Go."

* * *

 Much later, it was clear Black was not in the castle. How he'd managed it was a troubling mystery. Security measures would have to be tightened from here on out- much as Albus loathed to do it.

He paced the length of the Great Hall now, discussing the many logistics with each scared face he saw coming in and out. Each report was a small disappointment, though not a surprise.

"Very well Severus," Albus said in response to the latest update. Black was, indeed, gone. Percy Weasley stood beside them, listening intently. "I didn't really expect Black to linger."

"Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?" Severus asked, joining quite naturally alongside Albus's pace up the hall.

"Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next." Albus stopped in front of the silhouetted form of Harry Potter, considering the boy for a moment. But Severus was not to be deterred.

"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before, ah, the start of term?" Severus murmured, blocking Percy from the conversation with a quick motion.

"I do, Severus," Albus said, snapping his gaze from the sleeping boy up to Severus's eyes.

"It seems…almost impossible…that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concern when you appointed-"

"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it."

The matter was closed.

Albus glanced back down at Harry. Did he know, yet, the truth about Sirius Black? Perhaps not…either way, Albus had little desire to tell him. Though it was terribly clear Harry was a far more capable young man that Albus could have hoped he would ever be, it felt cruel to keep tearing away at his innocence. And he was still innocent, wasn't he? Lying there, seemingly so at peace…something stirred again, a longing in Albus that only Harry had ever roused. Far more than the desire to keep him alive, there was a need to  _protect_. Let him sleep, let him dream a while longer…he was only a  _child._

"I must go down to the dementors," Albus said quickly, tearing his gaze away from the boy. "I said I would inform them when our search was complete."

"Didn't they want to help, sir?" Percy asked.

"Oh yes," Albus said, a chip of ice to his tone. "But I'm afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am headmaster."

With that he swept from the room, deeply disturbed by the nature of his own thoughts.

He was growing dangerously attached to Harry Potter.

* * *

 It was one of the worst Quidditch matches Albus had ever attended. Dark and stormy, the rain pelted upon both teams in sheets. Thunder rumbled in the clouds, lightning cracked across the sky, and yet the game went on. Albus kept his eye on Harry, privately rooting for him to end this match quickly.

Then a sudden chill descended upon the stadium, one that had nothing to do with the wind- Albus froze. He was caught off guard, and before he could so much as draw his wand, a white fog clouded his vision. His bones felt as though they'd been plunged into ice- and deep in the back of his mind, he could hear the faint cries of a little girl. They grew louder, and other voices soon joined hers. He shut his eyes, frozen by the voices. It had been so long, so long since he had heard them, but they were, unmistakable- a boy laughing madly, another's shouts of fury, and the little girl, screaming, crying for it all to stop-

_Don't hurt them, please, hurt me instead!_

_No!_

Albus blinked, wrenching himself free of his hallucinations. He blinked again, only to see a silvery, tabby cat resting on his shoulder, and the concerned face of Minerva McGonagall peering up at him. He was about to mutter his thanks, ready to draw his own wand to chase the dementors away, when suddenly she cried out- "Harry!" and clapped a hand to her mouth.

In the midst of his own madness, Albus hadn't seen the dementors attacking the boy. Nor had he realized just  _how_  many there were- hundreds of them, gathering below on the field. He leapt to his feet, charging out onto the field as Harry plummeted to the ground. He brandished his wand.

" _Arresto Momentum!"_

Harry's body hung limp, gliding gently towards the ground. Albus could breathe again. Another wave.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ "

The familiar silver phoenix burst forth from his wand, brighter than ever before. It soared above the stadium in a magnificent arc, chasing each and every dementor from the field. One by one they slithered back to their posts, driven out by the light of Albus's Patronus.

Harry, meanwhile, continued his slow descent to earth. With the dementors gone, Albus summoned a stretcher for him to land on. Harry's face was white as a sheet; rain and mud soaked through his robes. Enraged in a way he didn't bother to dwell on, Albus marched up to the castle, stretcher in tow.

He delivered Harry to Madam Pomfrey, diverting her many questions with but a word- "dementors." And then he'd marched off again to send a strongly worded owl to the Minister.

Those things could not stay.

* * *

 Moments later, Albus returned to the Hospital Wing, no less furious but significantly calmer- much more himself.

"Ah, Dumbledore," Madam Pomfrey said, only glancing up from her work for a moment. "I'm afraid I can't let anyone see him now, it's a miracle he's alive…however did you manage it?" She bustled about the bed, pulling off Harry Potter's mud-covered shoes.

"I was able to slow his fall," Albus said, ignoring the witch's warnings and crossing the room to Harry's side. "How is he, Poppy?"

"He'll be fine, Albus, but he needs  _rest_ ," she said with a pointed glare. "You put this boy through too much! I swear he's in here every year for one thing or another." Albus's lips twitched. She was right, of course.

"I'm afraid Mr. Potter has a bit of a talent for trouble," Albus said, as though he'd just been informed Harry had received another detention. "Much like his father." Poppy scoffed.

"His father never had as many broken bones, I'll tell you what," she brandished a finger towards Albus, then shook her head and turned away. "He needs chocolate. Watch him for a moment!" It seemed she'd forgotten her earlier demand that he leave. The door to her office slammed behind her, and they were alone.

Was this the third or the fourth time Harry's life had been in mortal danger? Albus wondered, as again he considered the boy. Poppy was certainly right about one thing- he'd put this boy in far too much danger. Yet it was  _necessary._

Not the fall from the sky. Never anything like that. But his many trials, the tests he'd been put through…these were essential first steps, were they not? Much as Albus wished he could lift the burden from the boy's young shoulders, he could not.

And the worst was yet to come. Albus had not told a soul of the truth he'd realized the year prior. Nor had he given any hint, to anyone, of the terrible fate to which Harry was condemned. That was Albus's burden to bear, and his alone, until such a day that Harry learned the truth.

It would not be today.

Albus pulled a chair aside, sitting beside the bed much as he had done in Harry's first year, after he'd procured the Stone from the mirror. Then, of course, Albus had been terribly concerned for the boy's safety. Had Harry died from his injuries, they'd have all been lost.

Now that he had a moment to ponder his own reaction, however, Albus realized something quite disconcerting. His own feelings had nothing to do with the greater good at all. When he'd rushed out onto that field, he hadn't been thinking about wars or Voldemort or Horcruxes. He'd thought only of Harry.

And it was Harry's happy, smiling face that had flashed in his mind when he'd summoned his Patronus.

* * *

 He left the Hospital Wing before Harry awoke.

* * *

 The Minister, of course, had denied Albus's demand that the dementors be removed. Meanwhile, it seemed, Harry himself had come up with a solution of his own.

"He wants to learn to cast a Patronus himself, Dumbledore," said a rather forlorn Remus Lupin. He had seated himself in the chair across from Albus, as though he were a student rather than colleague. Albus folded his hands carefully, resting his chin against the tips of his fingers.

"And what do you think of this?"

"I think it's very advanced magic for a third year," Remus said. His hands clenched against the fabric of his robes. "I fear he won't be able to manage it- thousands of grown witches and wizards can't."

"Harry has shown himself to be an extraordinary person in the years I've known him," Albus replied, lips quirking upwards. "He may surprise you."

"He does well in my class," Remus admitted, "but I confess we've not done much with spell work. Third years are learning magical creatures, and definitely nothing as complex as a Patronus."

"It isn't really the spell work that makes a Patronus so difficult, Remus," Albus said. "Surely you, of all people, understand this?"

Remus fidgeted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable with this line of questioning. "I'm aware," he said, looking away. "But I fear Harry…the dementors affect him so strongly, Dumbledore. Does he have a memory strong enough to counteract them?"

"There are true horrors in Harry's past," Albus conceded. "But he is hardly the first person to suffer so, and live to smile again." He glanced rather pointedly towards Remus himself. "And I believe it prudent that he be able to defend himself. As you say, the dementors affect him quite strongly."

"You believe in him, then?"

"I do."

Remus nodded.

"The funny thing is," he said, "is that I do too."

* * *

 A second time, Sirius Black broke into Gryffindor Tower.

A second time, the castle was searched.

A second time, Black was nowhere to be found.

And a second time, Severus Snape stood at Albus's side, a cold sneer upon his face.

"Headmaster, you  _must_  see sense," Severus said, strolling alongside Albus at the edge of the lake. Albus kept his gaze trained upon the glassy surface, idly wondering if the giant squid might make an appearance.

"I'm aware of your suspicions, Severus," Albus said gently. "But I do not find them credible. Forgive me."

Severus looked incredulous.

" _Twice_  now Black has broken into this castle!" He stopped, blocking Albus from walking any further. " _Twice_  now he has attempted to murder the very student you made me  _swear to protect!_ "

"And I appreciate how hard you work at this, Severus."

"Yet you do nothing to prevent it?"

"That is hardly a fair accusation," Albus said evenly, gaze narrowing as he looked towards the edge of the castle grounds. Severus followed his line of vision, and he frowned.

"The dementors aren't working."

"I do not believe anyone in this castle is assisting Sirius Black in entering it," Albus said coldly, turning hard eyes back upon Severus. The younger man stepped back, clearly chastised.

"Put your prejudices aside, Severus," Albus said, continuing his walk around the lake. "They do you no credit."

Severus fell into step beside him, and spoke no more. Yet it was clear from the dark look upon his face that inside, he was fuming. Albus's words had again fallen on deaf ears.

He sighed.

* * *

 A third time, Sirius Black entered the castle.

This time, however, he did so in chains. The once handsome face was gaunt, waxy, and thin. His eyes gleamed with a wildness Albus did not remember. His hair was matted, his clothing torn. He looked all the wilder for the way the moonlight cast deep shadows across his face. Yet the way he begged for someone, anyone, to listen to him, had stilled Albus entirely. So he agreed to hear him out. 

He listened intently as Sirius Black told his story. It was unbelievable. Outside the window, the lonely howl of a wolf could be heard in the distance.

"Please, Dumbledore…I didn't betray them. I'd have sooner died, died rather than betray my friends…betray  _James_ …"

"You're asking me to believe your tale, with no evidence at all. You say Pettigrew escaped. Forgive me for saying, but that is rather convenient."

Sirius gave a low little moan. Then his eyes popped open.

"Veritaserum, use Veritaserum! Please, Dumbledore,  _I'm not lying!_ "

"I'm afraid we have none in our stores at the moment," Albus said with a sigh. "And it would take months to brew it. The dementors won't wait that long, I fear." Sirius went pale.

"But you believe me…Harry does, he can tell you what happened…you'd believe him, wouldn't you? He's James's  _son_ …" Sirius trailed off, the small flicker of hope gone out in his eyes. "Where is Harry now?"

"The Hospital Wing."

"Is he all right?"

"Spoken like a true godfather," Albus said with a tilt of his head.

"I DIDN'T BETRAY THEM!" Sirius roared suddenly, straining against the chains that held his hands to the wall. Albus sat in his seat calmly, considering all he'd heard, all he'd seen. There was no evidence, none at all. Yet in Sirius's eyes was not the crazed look of a mass murderer, but that of a desperate, broken man.

"You're asking me to believe the impossible."

Sirius hung his head in defeat.

"And I do."

His head snapped back up. Hope flickered again in his eyes, and Albus saw it quite clearly- the shadow of an eleven-year-old boy, so  _eager_  to prove he was nothing like his family. In that instant, Albus knew his instincts were correct. Sirius Black was innocent- but there wasn't much time.

_Ah_.  _Time._

"Now I must ask you the impossible, Sirius. I must ask you to trust me."

"Anything, Dumbledore,  _anything_ …"

"Do not try to leave this room."

* * *

_"I am going to lock you in. It is-" he consulted his watch, "five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck."_

* * *

 Another year over, another test beginning. Harry sat glumly in the chair just vacated by the now former Professor Lupin. It was a terribly sad state of affairs, Albus had to privately agree. Remus had been one of the better instructors to have filled the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. But Albus still had a job for Remus- he would not be unsupported.

The door shut. Remus was gone. Harry looked up at the sound and yanked Albus right out of his thoughts.

"Why so miserable, Harry?" Albus asked quietly. "You should be very proud of yourself after last night."

"It didn't make any difference," Harry said with a bitterness that was more suitable for man twice his age. "Pettigrew got away."

"Didn't make any difference?" Albus tilted his head to the side, coming to stand next to Harry. "It made all the difference in the world, Harry. You helped uncover the truth. You saved an innocent man from a terrible fate."

And he was proud, terribly proud, of the skill and strength Harry and his friends had shown.

"Professor Dumbledore…yesterday, when I was having my Divination exam, Professor Trelawney went very…very strange," Harry said, and this was not at all what Albus had expected him to say. An uneasy feeling crept up inside his stomach. The third test had started.

"Indeed?" Albus asked, attempting to remain delicate. "Er…stranger than usual, you mean?"

"Yes…her voice went all deep and her eyes rolled and she said…she said Voldemort's servant was going to set out to return to him before midnight…she said the servant would help him come back to power." Harry stared up at Albus, who himself felt rather like he'd just swallowed a brick. "And then she sort of became normal again, and she couldn't remember anything she'd said. Was it…was she making a real prediction?"

Albus was impressed Harry had recognized what was happening. Lightly, he said "Do you know, Harry, I think she might have been. Who'd have thought it? That brings her total of real predictions up to two. I should offer her a pay raise…"

_Tell him. Tell him now, he can take it._

"But…" Harry looked up again, eyes wide and confused. "But I stopped Sirius and Professor Lupin from killing Pettigrew! That makes it my fault if Voldemort comes back!"

_No. Not yet._

"It does not," Albus said quietly, hiding the growing concern behind his ever-present mask of calm. "Hasn't your experience with the Time-Turner taught you anything, Harry? The consequences of our actions are always so complicated, so diverse, that predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed. Professor Trelawney, bless her, is living proof of that…you did a very noble thing, in saving Pettigrew's life.

"But if he helps Voldemort back to power…!"

"Pettigrew owes his life to you. You have sent Voldemort a deputy that is in your debt," Albus assured. In many ways, what Harry had told him gave Albus a flicker of hope. Hope Harry, probably, did not understand. "When one wizard saves another wizard's life, it creates a certain bond between them…and I'm much mistaken if Voldemort wants his servant in the debt of Harry Potter."

"I don't  _want_  a connection with Pettigrew!" Harry insisted. "He betrayed my parents!" Albus sympathized with the boy- but he still did not understand.

"This is magic at its deepest, its most impenetrable, Harry," Albus explained, as gently as he could. "But trust me…the time may come when you will be very glad you saved Pettigrew's life."

Harry, who seemed to have lost his voice, gave Albus a long, indignant look. Albus could only smile, despite the gravity of the situation, despite the thoughts rolling in his head. Another prophecy, and Voldemort almost certain to rise again, and quite soon if this new prophecy was to be believed.

Albus had known this day would come. He had known it for years. He was prepared now, far more than he'd ever been, thanks to the little diary hidden away in his office. There was time still, time to move forward with the plan…and time to arm Harry with the truth, as well.

Yet when Albus spoke again, he said none of those things.

"I knew your father very well, both at Hogwarts and later, Harry," he said, choosing to comfort instead. Harry looked down towards his feet. "He would have saved Pettigrew too, I am sure of it."

Harry, who'd been considering the tips of his shoes very carefully, glanced back up. If ever there was a moment for the truth, it was now…

"I thought it was my dad who'd conjured my Patronus. I mean, when I saw myself across the lake…I thought I was seeing him."

Albus's heart lurched. All thought of prophecies and Dark Lords flew from his head

"An easy mistake to make," Albus said softly. He sat upon the edge of the desk, gazing down at Harry. Harry, who looked terribly small all of a sudden. An orphan too, and Albus knew well the feeling never went away. "I expect you'll tire of hearing it, but you do look  _extraordinarily_  like James. Except for the eyes…you have your mother's eyes."

"It was stupid, thinking it was him," Harry said, shaking his head. "I mean, I knew he was dead."

"You think the dead we love ever truly leave us?" Albus said with a pang of empathy. "You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him."

To have loved and lost was both a great and terrible thing. But to have never known, and still to love so deeply…Harry never ceased to amaze Albus.

"How else could you produce that  _particular_  Patronus?" He leaned his head slightly towards Harry, and said very seriously, "Prongs rode again last night."

Harry again stared quite intently at the top of his shoes. Then he looked up, an obvious question in his eyes. Albus smiled.

"Last night Sirius told me all about how they became Animagi," he said. "An extraordinary achievement- not least, keeping it quiet from me. And then I remembered the most unusual form your Patronus took, when it charged Mr. Malfoy down at your Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. You know, Harry, in a way, you did see your father last night…you found him inside yourself."

Albus rested a warm hand on Harry's shoulder, and with a sad smile, left him to this thoughts.

* * *

 For the third time, he had failed the test. And now, more than ever before, Albus realized how immense the flaw in his brilliant plan had become.

Time was running out.


End file.
